Tomorrow's Triumph
by hallowcrux
Summary: After defeating Voldemort, forces rise against Harry and Tom until they finally come face to face with the opportunity of immortality. adopted sequel to Fate's Favourite by The Fictionist
1. Chapter 1

First 4 chapters are the originals written by The Fictionist.

* * *

Chapter One:  
_Summer, 1899, Godric's Hollow_

Gellert Grindelwald loved his life. It hadn't been the easiest at first, his genius remained constrained and oppressed by the tedium of those inferior to him, and for a long time he'd since abandoned all hope of finding someone to match him.

Then he met Albus.

Incredibly, something just seemed to click into place, like it never had with anyone else who remained incapable of matching his intellectual capacities. Albus was...different.

They were going to rule the world, together, he knew that - with many secretive nights tucked away in the corners of this dull, deadbeat village, they'd carved out plans for legacy and empire.

Albus had, of course, been initially reluctant due to the influence of his filthy, inferior father in his commonness, but he'd..._persuaded _the man. It wasn't difficult to catch the furtive glances his companion gave him, the kinship of fellow souls and minds, and the lingering touches filled with repressed hopes and longings.

Albus Dumbledore was irrevocably in love with him, and to be honest, he could only compliment the man on his excellent taste. If he was Albus, he'd be in love with himself too.

It was all too easy after that, pulling the other's heart strings like Albus was a dazzling and curious marionette devised just for him, using the boy's infatuation to his advantage. How could he not? He had to have him on side, because together they would be unstoppable.

He cared for Dumbledore, of course he did, and was fascinated and captivated by the spark and chemistry between them - and, perhaps, charmed by the other's devotion towards him. Who knew, maybe he liked Albus, and maybe he liked the idea of him and the idea of love itself, which seduced him more than anything else.

The point was: he loved his life.  
They were on the brink of everything; power, glory and immortality...if only Albus' _damn _brother would step aside considering they were supposed to be leaving any minute now...leaving this dreadfully dull village behind...

He hated the fool, more than anything.

Aberforth Dumbledore was everything Albus and himself were not - boring, stupid, and debased by his obsession with goats and other trivial earthly things. He had no ambition, but was petty enough to deny Albus his own due to his childish jealousies.

Somehow, things escalated, and the boy had the insolence to attempt to harm him - he wasn't even thinking, he just snapped, lost it - but the next second Aberforth was screaming and writhing deliciously under his cruciatus curse.

The second after that, Albus was there - _duelling him. Against _him. His eyes widened with shock as he was forced onto the defensive by the Dumbledore brothers...by one he'd considered an ally, still considered...this was all just some sort of misunderstanding.

Ariana, the pretty but damaged fourteen year old girl, had trailed along after her eldest sibling and was watching with a vague dismay and confusion.

"What are you doing!" he demanded incredulously. "_Albus?"  
_Something unfamiliar and alien was aching in his chest, cold and poisonous. Just yesterday, Albus had told him he loved him - a foolish but somewhat quaint declaration, but not entirely unappreciated.

"You don't get to attack my family," Albus stated, a terrible coldness to his features that only juxtaposed the soft hurt and raw betrayal shining in intelligent blue eyes.

"He's trying to hold you back - hold _us _back-" he growled, in response.

"You had him under a crucio!"

Spells and curses shot between them with a deadly grace, and even then he could admire the raw beauty of their power in times like this.

Then Ariana was stepping forward, panicked, trying to stop them - the next second she was on the floor.

Everything seemed to freeze, the whole world and their fight pausing on the brink of a knife edge. Neither of them knew who'd cast the final curse, and neither of them were brave enough to check.

Aberforth dropped next to his sister immediately, howling like some wild animal, a terrible noise, checking her pulse frantically, blood smeared over his hands.

Gellert opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.

He took a step forward, but Albus held out an arm, as if to stop him, staring, unseeingly.

"She's dead," he whispered.

"Albus-"

"My sister is _dead_- I - I was supposed to look after her-"

"Albus-" he tried again.

"_She's dead! _This - this is your fault..."

"My-my fault?" Gellert hated the sudden tremor in his voice, thickened by indignation. Albus couldn't possibly know that, how could he? Of course, he needed someone to blame, but... "It was an accident, it could have been any of us!"

"I want you to leave."

"You said you loved me!"  
It slipped out before he could help it, and Albus' eyes snapped to him, still filled with that devastated vulnerability, now tainted by a sort of horror. The other swallowed, thickly.

"_Please. _I-I can't-"

"Albus, for love of the Hallows, I get that you're upset-" he attempted, hands raised placatingly. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Leave." It came out a choked sob, and that something in his chest twisted painfully.

"This isn't my fault!"

"LEAVE!" Albus screamed, everything around him beginning to shake, and tremor with wild magic. Gellert stared at the other, almost blankly, before the most fearful of rages began to bury under his skin, a bitter contamination.

His heart pounded in his chest, his eyes narrowed.

"We need to leave _now,_" he said, desperately. "We talked about this, it's the only right time, our opportunity-"

"I can't," Albus whispered, wide eyed. "Not now. I-" He looked over at Arianna, her porcelain skin tainted a beautiful crimson. Aberforth, annoyingly, still howled and wailed. "My place is here."

"...you're picking them over me," he accused, disbelievingly. Albus opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, but no words seemed to be coming out to either protest or confirm the statement. His jaw clenched with tight restraint.

"Fine. _Fine. _Have it your way, I never loved you anyway!"

He strode away, not sure why he felt so...empty.  
Alone.

Always alone.

* * *

_Present Day, Platform Nine and ¾ onwards..._

It had been a long summer, and a somewhat unusual one seeing as he hadn't been with the Dursleys...who, as he now knew, had apparently moved in accordance to their bizarre and random trip to Hogwarts the previous school year.

More so, even if they had still been around, he wouldn't have willingly stayed with them seeing as the blood wards were pointless considering Voldemort was out of the way, in the past.

He'd ended up mostly with Sirius at a renovated Grimmauld Place, and then, weirdly, with the Malfoy's for some of the summer. Tom had spent the majority of his summer there, along with Abraxas of course, and then Zevi and Alphard too.

(Lestrange had been sent, without doppelganger, to the past because none of them wanted him around. Harry couldn't say he missed him.)

Sirius had - probably in a show of good faith and probably curiosity regarding Alphard - offered to let them stay at Grimmauld too, but they seemed to prefer the company and comforts of Malfoy Manor. He couldn't imagine them staying willingly at the old-Auror Headquarters anyway, not when the Weasley's visited so often.

Upon his own invitation to the Malfoy ancestral home, Harry had initially not particularly liked the idea of going there. Ron, too, had been most against the idea and he could tell Sirius had been reluctant as well; only agreeing because Narcissa wasn't 'so bad' and because Tom was so damn insistent.

Not that he hadn't met up with the Slytherins and Tom otherwise, of course he had - the summer had been a bit hectic actually with his and Tom's campaign in its opening stages. They'd mainly just planned the manifesto over the summer, before tentatively starting to consider a subtle form of recruitment and of course fielding a seemingly never ending hunger for interviews, and attended events to start being more prominent in the 'right' circles.

Salazar, he hated politics so much...how had he wound up running a political campaign again?

Tom and the rest of the Time Travellers had devoted numerous hours to catching up with the times too, and he'd been dragged on one torturous shopping trip for a brand new wardrobe because apparently Tom was getting sick of looking at him in 'rags.'

They also got their OWL results - Tom, to nobody's surprise, got straight O's in everything. Hermione had got O's in everything but Defence Against the Dark Arts, to Tom's somewhat vindictive glee and her dismay.

Harry himself had got:  
Astronomy - A  
Care of Magical Creatures - E  
Charms - O  
Defence Against the Dark Arts - O  
Divination - D  
Herbology - E  
History of Magic - P  
Transfiguration - O  
Potions - O (under Tom and Zevi's extensive and slave-labourish tutolege)

He'd been happy, Tom had been appalled that he hadn't got straight O's and E's, or even _passed _everything and given him hell for it.

Of course, the main hectic nature of the summer was that it had been dominated by Dumbledore's trial.

Oddly, he too had been surprised by that - but it seemed, after his suspicious conduct in attempting to attack him and Tom while they were unconscious during the Battle of Hogwarts (as it was called) he'd found himself under trial, and the whole summer had been taken up with investigations on the side of the Ministry into the affairs of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what he felt about that; Tom, naturally, was delighted with the situation.

He'd, finally, been charged as guilty for child abandonment, criminal contempt at court, disturbing the peace, attempted murder, - though it wasn't entirely clear to the public what his sentence would be. They actually had some difficulty charging him with anything that stuck, which was why the case had taken so long, much to Tom's and others infuriation.

It probably didn't help that Dumbledore still had a lot of influence, and had written most the laws and normally found loopholes around his actions.

Harry maintained that, aside from attempting to murder Tom and generally being a bit of a manipulative bastard for the sake of war, the old man hadn't actually done anything wrong in the lawful sense. He was morally ambiguous, but that didn't translate to a criminal offense.

The platform was filled with hustle and bustle and crowd as normal, alight with colours and gestures and goodbyes. He moved with Sirius, Remus - Tonks, who often visited Grimmauld and who he liked well enough, and the Weasley's.

They were running late. As always.

He had no doubt Tom and co. were already on the train, calmly waiting to leave, and hadn't had the slightest bit of rush and panic that morning.

"Stay out of trouble this year, alright?" Sirius half demanded, half pleaded.

"I'll do my best," Harry said, with a small grin - though the thought did make him nervous. It was sad, but he'd learnt to accept danger and unpleasantness in a year far more than normality and security.

They all bid their goodbyes, with a hug, and Mrs Weasley pressed a slightly subdued and teary kiss to his cheek too. It had been her first 'School run' without Arthur, which just exacerbated the normal situation.

Ron and Hermione split for the Prefect's Carriage, and he weaved his way through the train in search of the Slytherins. He realised, now, that he'd never actually rode on the Hogwarts Express with them before.

He ran into Luna, accepting a Quibbler from her and inviting her to join him and the Slytherins when she was done (he didn't care if they objected) before continuing.

Several frightened and excited looking first years were dotted around, distinctive in their lack of colours - and it seemed almost quiet without Fred and George. Though their joke shop was absolutely awesome...money well spent. He'd have to see if he could ever hire them to invent products of a more defensive nature...

Finally, he found Tom's compartment, and entered.  
There was an abandoned Wizard's Chess set that no one seemed to be playing on the table. They all looked up as the Compartment door slid open.

"Harry!" Alphard smirked at him immediately. "Tell Princess he should ask Chang out."

"Chang?" Harry repeated, his brow furrowing. "Cho Chang?"

"Yeah, her," Alphard winked, with a glance at Zevi, who was shaking his head, a long suffering look on his face.

"Er, yeah, sure, if he wants to," Harry said, a bit bemused, walking to sit next to Tom automatically - Abraxas shifted to the side to make space.

"I don't want to," Zevi said adamantly. "She's not my type. Besides, she fancies Harry."

"Yes, well, we all know who _your_type is," Tom murmured, a gleam in his eyes. Zevi's eyes averted, and Harry raised his brows.

"Clearly we all don't," he said, mildly. He looked around. "Actually, I think it's just you who knows, care to share?" he grinned.

"Tom," Zevi said, almost pleadingly. The gleam - and he couldn't decide if it was cruel, mocking, disdainful or amused - only brightened, but Tom said nothing.

"Well, that's a letdown," Alphard huffed. "Who is it Zev? I can't believe you haven't told me!"

"Oh no, I can see perfectly well why he hasn't told you," Abraxas murmured. "You're a gossip, Black."

"I am not!"

They continued bickering, and he turned to Tom, whose study had switched onto him, more musing now, almost.

"Who does Zevi like?" Harry asked, quietly, with some curiosity.

"I don't think it would be very fair if I betrayed his confidence and told you, figure it out for yourself," Tom challenged in response, with a slight smirk. Harry rolled his eyes, as he settled back.

For once, right now, there was no troubles and only a relative calm around them - nothing urgent to discuss or plans that needed making at that exact moment in time. So, they just...talked.

It actually felt somewhat foreign, though not unpleasant, to just talk...though, on Tom's side, it probably wasn't just talking as he always had some plan or another.

Luna joined them at one point, and several other people flitted in and out throughout the journey. It was pretty normal.

No Dementors. No Flying Cars. No landed 50 years Back in Time in a Potion.

Their Sixth Year at Hogwarts had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two:

"I can't believe this," Tom hissed, eyeing the paper at breakfast the next day.

Horace Slughorn was the new potions teacher - and Harry dreaded their lesson already, and the inevitable formation of the 'Slug club.' McGonagall was the new Headmistress, and he was more than glad for that, but the head table seemed empty despite the familiar presence of Dumbledore beaming at them all.

He turned to face the Slytherin Heir, eyebrow raising in question.  
Tom pushed the paper in his direction, and he read automatically. Then his eyes shot up to young Dark Lord's furious ones, incredulous.

"They're sending Dumbledore to Numegard - isn't that - isn't that where he put Grindelwald?" Harry questioned, bewildered. "...and I thought you'd be happy he's being locked up?"

Tom shot him a withering look, and he met it unflinchingly, waiting for explanation. The other sighed.

"You believe they wouldn't form an alliance to get rid of us?"

Harry frowned.  
"Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, they hate each other," he replied. He did not, however, dismiss or object to the possibility.

"...and you defeated Voldemort," Tom said quietly, eyebrows arched. Harry grimaced. Tom was getting at their own dynamic, and its...unlikeliness, if one truly considered their history and the conditions of their meeting.

"Doesn't count. Different matter, Voldemort did hate me, besides," he said pointedly. Tom's expression was alarmingly considering at that statement, and frighteningly unreadable. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Nonetheless," Tom continued, "Dumbledore and Grindelwald are both part of the old order...the straight divide between dark and light sides. What we are proposing is something new and different, a break from tradition, and thus to their very nature and existences as black and white lords...a very different type of revolution."

"And you think their response to this will be to unite against us?"

"No, I don't think so," Tom said, immediately. "I know they will."  
"Aren't you just the voice of doom today," Harry muttered, but he nevertheless read through the article carefully, with a slight frown, marginally troubled.

All across the Great Hall, whispers about Dumbledore were spreading like fire-crackers.  
He could sense the rest of the Slytherins watching the two of them, at attention, awaiting any plan of action, or anything like that.

"We'll wait and see how this develops," Tom stated. "Alphard, you can stop trying to research Zevi's love interests and set to learning what you can about whatever connections there may be between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Report back within the week. Abraxas, look into Grindelwald's personal strategies and attacks. Harry - Dumbledore."

Harry's brows arched at the order. Tom gave him a look in response.  
"Don't tell me you're going to refuse just because I suggested it, that's just childish. You know perfectly well you would have done it eventually anyway, of your own accord."

That wasn't the point.

"Maybe if you ask nicely," he replied, after a moment, smirking. Tom seemed to be refraining from rolling his eyes, but turned to him, a vaguely mocking gleam on his otherwise sincere features.

"Sweetheart, will you pretty please do this for me because you are wonderful and amazing and I love you." Tom offered him a blinding smile, with a definite edge of taunt and mockery now that belied any of his faked-genuineness, cupping the side of his face.

Harry blinked, whilst the other Slytherins snickered.

"You're a bastard," he said flatly. "And you're not funny." He began to flick through the rest of the paper instead.

"It was kind of funny," Alphard muttered, with a grin.

"Either way, will you look up Dumbledore or not, Harry?" Tom questioned, briskly. "If not, Alphard will, though it would be easier if you did it due to your history."

Alphard's eyes darted to Tom, before he nodded, accepting the implicit order.

"Have fun, Alphard," Harry said simply. He would have happily helped out if Tom wasn't a git about it, but seeing as he was being more of an arrogant and presumptuous jerk than normal...

The Slytherins appeared somewhat less amused when they looked between the two of them this time. Tom's expression was even, composed and unreadable, but Harry could easily sense the tension bubbling like lava beneath the surface.

He continued to flick calmly through the newspaper, finding the Quidditch section as he spooned cereal into his mouth, not looking up.

He could feel Tom's eyes burning into him for a moment, before the gaze shifted and he continued to 'idly' converse with his followers.

He almost sighed. That was...what, breakfast of the first bloody day?  
Was it completely unfair to somehow blame Dumbledore for this?

* * *

Cornelius Fudge scowled at his team, his bowler hat squashed angrily upon his head.

"There must be something we can do," he exclaimed, frustrated, smacking a hand across his crowded table.

For a while, with the return of Voldemort after he himself had so publicly dismissed it, he thought he'd lose his job. It had been a near miss, too near, and he wasn't eager to face the prospect of being forced to resign any time soon.

He'd grown used to being Minister, and the automatic respect, privileges and comforts of the position. He wasn't willing to give that up.

And, he had the feeling based on Harry Potter's previous treatment under his ministry, that, if the whispers of what his group planned was true, he wouldn't be keeping it under their jurisdiction.

He needed some way of neutralising their possible threat, or securing their allegiance and powers to the good of the ministry. They, especially now, had too much power and influence to be left alone, even if they were sixth years.

The worst part was the problem he was currently facing, which would only exacerbate their might. He scowled at the will.

They'd held it as long as they could physically found possible, utilising all the loopholes available to them...now, however, under the law they no longer had an excuse, and Madame Bones had never been as susceptible to their automatic command of his position as some others.

Really, the whole thing was absurd, and incredibly suspicious.

Nonetheless, he had been tricky in his phrasing, with a solid knowledge of wizarding rights and the legal system. They had no choice but to implement the damn will.  
Someone would have to inform the boy of the new, delicate developments as soon as possible.

Could they use this?

* * *

Potions had been as awful as he'd expected. Well, the class was better than it was with Snape, but Slughorn had fawned far too much, and wasted half the lesson gushing about fifty years ago and -how-did-you-survive-a-second-time-Harry-my-boy? It was infuriating, and he despised the attention.

Hermione had also began to get a glowing reputation for her skills, or at least her theoretical knowledge. Not to the extent Slughorn salivated over Tom or Zevi, but she was ranking third after them which Harry considered pretty damn impressive considering Zevi was a potion's natural and Slughorn just adored Tom and believed butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

Now, however, it was lunch, and Tom almost immediately for him to follow.

"It's the first lunch of the new term," Harry began to protest, only for Tom to simply reach back and drag him along instead, his jaw tight. He was shoved into an empty classroom and Tom folded his arms, glaring, leaning against the door.

"What is with your attitude today?" the Slytherin Heir demanded.

"My attitude hasn't actually changed from its normal state, you realise," Harry replied. "You're the one who's dragging me into unused classrooms before our first day's out."

Tom's eyes darkened.

"And your behaviour at breakfast?"

"Is no different to how I normally behave," Harry said, again, nonplussed. "I've never taken your orders, why is it suddenly a big deal to you again?"

"Because it was childish and we're supposed to present a united side - or do you, perhaps, think people would have any interest supporting a cause that is so clearly divided?" Tom questioned coldly.

"You started it by being a git," Harry replied, throwing his hands up into the air with frustration. "And for god's sake - Zevi, Abraxas and and Alphard already know us and our ways, it doesn't make a difference!"

"Yes, Zevi, Abraxas, Alphard and the rest of the people who watch our every move when we're in public," Tom returned, eyes flashing. "Or are you under the impression that undermining my orders and actions is a good thing?"

Right, of course. It would be that. He felt annoyance churning in his gut once more.

"_Our_ political campaign," he stated, flatly. "Doesn't that mean you shouldn't undermine my actions either? Which your actions earlier clearly did."

Tom stared at him, eyes narrowed.

"You realise you can't be in charge all the time?"

"Hark, who's talking," Harry drawled, pointedly. Tom took a step towards him, gaze heavy and appraising in its study.

"Ask nicely," he murmured, stopping right in front of him. Harry's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Ask nicely...you were compromising. I didn't accept. That's why you're so irritated."

"Like I said, you were the one who started it by being a git," he replied. "I changed nothing in my behaviour."

"Neither did I," Tom replied quietly. Harry paused at that.

It was a kind of an awkward situation, because he knew they both thrived on power plays and the struggle for dominance between them...except now, that was being forced to change. He didn't like it. And he wasn't willing to play second - too many people already thought he was just hanging off Tom's coat-tails, or his pet or something, anyway.

And Tom...well, Tom wasn't going to give up control like that. It wasn't his nature to be second in anything in anyway, especially not in regards to his own Slytherins and followers. Harry wasn't stupid, he did understand that...but that didn't mean he could blindly accept becoming little more than a prized follower either.

He'd come too far for that, and he hated servitude too much.  
Before, it hadn't really been a problem, because Tom had learnt to not demand his subservience like that, and they'd always had a more privately focussed edge to what they did.

Now, however, everything had been pushed out into the open - and the two of them most of all. Everything was suddenly all too public and that made it extremely difficult.

The worst part was that, yesterday, everything had seemed fine. The sudden change and all too quick arising of issues was just typical of their lives, really, wasn't it? He got the somewhat hysterical urge to laugh.

Of course, they hadn't been without their arguments in the summer...but, in the summer, it had also largely been just them still. He tugged a hand through his hair.

They needed some way or working out their issues in public, because he was well aware that they couldn't - in the middle of some political crisis or impromptu press conferences or whatever - just hide and bicker everything out beforehand.

He could feel Tom's scrutiny still on him, considering, no doubt searching for the same solution.

"We'll work it out," the young Dark Lord said, finally, tersely. "We always do."  
But Harry also noticed that he walked out without another comment and didn't wait up.

* * *

Tom strode down the corridor, his mind still racing as he pondered the problem, and the necessity of removing Harry from his immediate proximity for the optimum thinking conditions regarding this new...dilemma.

Harry's emotions were overwhelming him through the link, making it difficult for him to objectively and reasonably come to a conclusion.

It was the Horcruxes, his Horcruxes, unbalancing him.

He wasn't irrational, exactly, their souls had created a complete circle due to the fact that they held each other's Horcruxes (not that Harry was aware of the location of his own soul being Tom, or the extent to which Tom had placed his own soul into him) but the link between them had strengthened.

Before, coming to terms with his own emotions as well as dealing with the quirks of Harry's was hard - honestly, golden boy was an emotional wreck! But now it seemed almost impossible to relegate and categorise in his head.

It was because, though he'd largely settled by now, he still had a tiny bit to go and some of Harry's own traits seemed to have been absorbed into him. Not the stupid martyrdom or anything, that conflicted too much with the fundamentals of his own character. He could never gain Harry's self-worth either - or lack thereof - he was too narcissistic.

But he had noticed he was...better with light magic. He still couldn't use it as well as his power suggested, and far favoured Dark Magic, but...he was actually able to cast a light spell now. It was fascinating, a whole different flavour and flood of feeling.

Was that what it was always like for Harry? Even more so, due to his truly grey aura? A perfect balance, two different palettes at his disposal and so infinite variety. He was almost jealous.

More significantly in the emotional department, everything had - impossibly -intensified in regards to Harry.

If he had been protective and possessive before, it was almost uncontrollable now. And if he'd hated Harry for making him care before, that too was exacerbated on both counts.

He was emotionally unstable when it came to Harry.  
With everyone else he was the same as he'd ever been, the strange closed-loop nature of their Horcruxes ensured that and countered the more dramatic effects of splitting his soul, but by contrast all the effects had zoned straight onto Harry.

He was a phenomenal actor really, with impeccable self-control, otherwise there would have been accidents already. Nonetheless, he'd had to take a break from the immediate conflict.

He liked that Harry challenged him, it annoyed him of course, but it was also thrilling.  
Now, however, it was a double edged sword. His control automatically slipped with Harry more now, and his natural reaction that that was to find some way of compensating that control in other ways...which didn't go down well with Harry.

Sometimes, having two people with control issues was so inconvenient.

Normally, the solution to the problem would be an obvious compromise in that he would ask instead of order, and they would just delegate responsibilities and control over different factions over their life for general living.

Except, right now, on a mental and purely psychological level he could not willingly give up any sort of control, indeed, it was more likely that his need for control would only increase.

Which meant the issue and the conflict it was causing would only increase. Which meant Harry would just throw more emotions at him unwittingly through the link and further exacerbate the problem on his side, and everything would escalate until they both just exploded...whatever the consequences of that might be.

Whilst he could sit Harry down and explain the true nature and complexity of the issue, he wasn't going to because that would only cause another problem because golden boy hated horcruxes. Of course, he could always simplify it down and edit the severity - Harry did tend to warily accept most of what he said to be the truth in such matters.

Nonetheless, he didn't particularly like admitting to weakness either, and he was certain he could get a handle on it on his own as the days went past.

For now, though he was sure they would inevitably work it out, simply because leaving wasn't an option he was willing to allow for either of them.

He just didn't know how yet.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore kept his posture ramrod straight and dignified, his insides twisted as he was escorted into his cell, next to Gellert's.

He wasn't sharing directly with his old...nemesis, thankfully, because even now he felt sick with nerves to see the other man after so long. He'd never visited, never wrote - but, also, never forgot.

He knew he would have to see him though, and resisted the urge to swallow at the thought.

He'd act calm though, like there was nothing there, and no old wounds and scars to be torn into raw and painful exposure, only worsened by the downward spiral his life had taken since the arrival of Tom Riddle.

Riddle...there was nothing good there, there couldn't be, and it galled him that as he faced his own demons, Harry was creating and solidifying what would be his own.

He managed to avoid Gellert for as long as he could, but, finally, he felt those eyes on him, and then...and then the most awful, familiar laughter.

"Well, well Albus...was this for the greater good too?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three:

It was late afternoon, early evening, when the letter came, and Tom had remained off all day.

Regarding Tom, it wasn't that he was behaving particularly uncharacteristically, but there was a dark edge to him that normally remained more well-hidden, less raw. He also didn't talk, and, largely, didn't interact with them, growing remote, distanced.

It wasn't that this was entirely unusual for Tom, when it came to thinking, but normally he pushed everyone else away from his space rather than withdrawing himself.

He suspected it had something to do with their argument at breakfast, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why it was bothering the other this much.

Of course, Tom had always been somewhat...moody, but recently he seemed to be reaching new levels of 'bipolar.' It was more than a little unsettling.

It made him wonder, again, uneasily, about Tom's Horcrux. How big a chunk had the Slytherin Heir ripped off if his personality was still so in flux?

He couldn't say he approved of the method - indeed, he certainly didn't - but, well, it had kind of been a best case scenario otherwise, hadn't it? He'd get Tom to find himself a new means of immortality, and then just reverse the process or something.

He was sure he could survive it.

"What's the letter about?" Tom demanded, eyes sharp, obviously recognising the ministry seal.  
Harry read through it again, his brow furrowed.

_Mr Potter,_  
_There is a delicate matter that we urgently need to discuss with you, please come to the Ministry tonight, or at your earliest convenience. Either that, or we can come and find you._

_We cannot stress again the importance of this, and apologise for the lack of detail in this letter, it is a sensitive topic. It is, however, to do with your inheritance from a legal and ministerial perspective._

_Awaiting your owl, and thank you for your time,_  
_Melia Ayman, Office of Magical Law Enforcement_

"My...inheritance?" Harry said, not entirely sure himself. Tom sighed, reaching out for the letter and simply taking it, eyes scanning through it quickly.

"Will. It's to do with a Will, and most likely complications regarding one. Or items the Ministry don't want you to possess," Tom explained, or theorised, after a moment, before handing it back to him. Harry blinked, opening his mouth to speak, but Tom was continuing.

"It mentioned inheritance, so it's obviously a will, Harry...a recent one, or it would have been dealt before now. Probably from a month ago," Tom's voice and expression had turned thoughtful.

Their eyes met. Harry considered for a minute or so, his thoughts racing. Recent death. Complications. He frowned, eyeing the other.

"You don't seriously think this is Voldemort's will, do you?"

That was the only person Harry knew who'd died in the last months, whose Will might possess such 'delicate' Ministerial complications. It was just...utterly absurd.

"Yes, I do actually," Tom replied flatly.  
Harry stared, before laughing.

"And what would Voldemort bequeath me?" he demanded incredulously. "Poison? Why would you even think he would leave me anything?"

"Because it's what I'd do."

Harry swallowed.

* * *

That evening, Harry found himself at the Ministry.

It felt decidedly odd, as the place was largely empty as the day had wound down - only a few, extremely dedicated, ambitious or over-worked employees remained scattered around the large building. He couldn't help but feel suspicious.

Nonetheless, his curiosity dragged him forwards.  
This shouldn't take too long, should it?

To his surprise, Tom hadn't insisted on coming, as he would normally, saying he had better thing to be doing and that Harry would fill him in when he got back. It only made Harry more worried about what the hell was going on with the Slytherin Heir.

It actually kind of felt like Tom was avoiding him, and though it hadn't even been twenty four hours yet, it was already starting to piss Harry off. Really, Tom had no right to be this edgy just because Harry didn't roll over like a good little follower - he'd never done that anyway.

For a minute or so, he entertained the thought of Tom's reaction should he actually start behaving like a good little follower...hadn't he once asked Harry to never call him "lord"? But he didn't want to test it in case Tom did actually prefer him like that. All submissive.

He arrived at the office he was told to go to, only to grow even more suspicious and wary at the presence of Fudge, too. His wand was a familiar weight.

"You said this was important," he stated, without greeting, only going to a mild effort to hide his distaste for the minister under an icy sort of formality.

"Ah, yes," a blonde woman, who Harry presumed was Melia Ayman, murmured, clearing her throat. She was rather small and slender, with plump cheeks that seemed at odds with the rest of her rather bony, severe form. "It's...well...the Ministry have recently come to have possession of the will of Lord V-Vol-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"...and what's that got to do with me?" he prompted, eyebrows raised. "I presume there's some legal problem? Or something?"

Anything to do with Voldemort, or the memory of his regime and Death Eaters, people seemed to have got into the habit of approaching him for. As their 'saviour.' Really, Tom had done equally as much to defeat the snake-like figure, but he supposed they were favouring him because of the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. He was what they expected, and knew. Tom was a far more mysterious figure, though more fascinating to the media because of it.

"He, um," Ayman glanced at Fudge. "Well, he left you...everything."

It took Harry a few seconds to even process enough to reply.

"Excuse me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The-The Dark Lord, You-know-who, he left you everything he had...as his, er, legal heir," Ayman murmured. Harry blinked.

"What do you mean...everything?" he demanded. "Have you got a copy of the will? Show me!" he ordered.

Flustered, Ayman started showing him documents, only for Fudge to interrupt her with a slight tisk.

"Unfortunately, due to the nature of your, ah, benefactor, there are some problems with our allowing you to accept this."

Harry studied the man for a moment.

"Is there any legal reason I can't? Or is this just a Ministry problem due to what is probably a considerable fortune and collection of magical artefacts?" Harry asked.

He still couldn't believe Voldemort had left him anything, let alone everything.  
And named him his Heir. Bloody hell, was this just some final game? He didn't understand.

Surely it would have made far more sense for the Dark Lord to leave everything to Tom, rather?

Fudge opened his mouth, but Ayman spoke first, shyly.

"No, there's no legal reason you can't accept what he gives you. He was thorough with his wording, and his loopholes...it's not even whether you accept or not, Mr Potter, you don't have a choice. It's already yours."

"What if I don't want it?" Harry asked.

Fudge pasted a warm smile on his face.

"Then that would be perfectly understandable, Harry," he said, resting a hand on his arm. "I understand that this must be incredibly difficult for you, he murdered your parents after all-"

"Remove your hand."  
Fudge's hand shot back as if he'd been scalded, and Harry reached for the documents, scanning through them carefully.

The Riddle House - A Gringotts Vault, and he didn't even know what was in there - and...Harry stopped. He glanced up at Ayman.

"I believe you are a Parselmouth, Mr Potter," she said quietly.

Harry looked at Fudge, his eyes starting to gleam with a twisted sort of amusement.  
Trust Voldemort - or even Tom, but he didn't want to think like that - to make jabs at the ministry even in 'death.'

"You can't read it," he stated. "You don't have a clue what he left me, only that it's legally binding, and you can't stop it."

"We would be most obliged if you could translate for us," Fudge said stiffly.

Harry had to resist the strong urge to smirk, though it might have crept up on him, despite his severe unease.

"I'm failing to see how this is a Ministerial problem, if everything is legally functioning and there are no laws broken," he stated.

Even if it was Voldemort, even if he wanted nothing the man gave him...it was the same instinct against outside intrusion which was rearing his head. Even when Voldemort had been around, it was rare for them to actively involve us. In the end, in the final showdown in the Graveyard too, it had been a straight duel between the two of them despite how Voldemort could have easily killed him if he utilized the powers and greater numbers of his Death Eaters.

He turned to leave, taking the documents with him to peruse.

"Potter," Fudge bit out, sharply. "You do realise the possible ramifications of this? Should it become public? Your reputation could be tarred."

Harry paused, looking back.

"I'm not a girl, and this isn't the 1940s, Minister...I have more to rely on then just my good reputation," he said. "...do you?"

Fudge's eyes turned cold.  
Harry left, dismissively, more intent on the papers in his hands than a bumbling, incompetent Minister who clung for power.

* * *

Harry didn't go straight to the Slytherin Common Room, brow furrowed, confusion starting to tear at his mind. Instead, he found himself in his and Tom's compromise of a Come and Go room.

He lay down on his stomach in front of the fire, the various documents spread in front of him as he surveyed them. He was no expert on legal jargon, but he wasn't sure if this was exactly the type of inheritance he could get a lawyer on...Tom maybe, he worked in pretty much the same way, though the thought made Harry chuckle.

Tom...what would Tom think of all this?

As if hearing his thoughts, the Slytherin Heir in question entered, eyeing the room for a second, and no doubt judging the state of his mind by it.

Harry resisted the ridiculous urge to say 'I thought you were avoiding me.'  
His eyes flicked to the side as, instead of taking his normal position on the sofa, Tom came and sat next to him, leaning over the documents himself, not saying anything.

"You don't look surprised," Harry noted.

"Why would I be surprised?" Tom replied, eyebrows arching, before his head tilted. "...He gave you control of the Dark Mark and the Death Eaters..."

Now, finally, as he'd expected, there was an edge to Tom's tone.

"God knows why," he replied. Tom glanced at him.

"You don't know why he left you everything?"  
Harry scowled, sensing a test.

"Obviously not."

"Think," Tom instructed. "You know me. He's not that different."

Harry's scowl deepened at that, warning. Tom ignored it, merely meeting his gaze challengingly.

"I don't know," he muttered, infuriated. "He thought you were destined to become him, and, in that case...there would be no point in him leaving it to you. The Prophecy said that neither can live whilst the other survived...if I died, he didn't need his will to be enacted, if he died...he was certain I would survive."

"It would never have been anyone else," Tom said, quietly. "You're Harrison Evans. It says here that he left you a Gringotts Vault, as well as the Riddle House and official control of the Death Eaters..." again, the young Dark Lord's tone gained a dangerous undertone at those words, "when are we going to go and see what's in there?"

Harry smirked.  
"What do you mean 'we'?" he teased. "It's not yours."

He was startled when Tom promptly smacked him upside down the head, and not in a particularly joking or light-hearted manner either. It was fully intended to hurt.

His eyes narrowed warily. Something was definitely up. Whilst Tom did lash out, there was an icy fire in his eyes right now that jarred with the situation, or at least the situation as far as Harry was aware of it.

"...I was joking," he said, flatly. Tom said nothing, flexing his fingers for a moment, posture still. Too still. "Tom-" Harry started.

The other was standing again, swiftly, some of the documents still in his hand, stepping away, stance very restrained and contained now. Harry nearly growled, lunging forwards, grabbing Tom by the arms, tightly.

"What the hell is going on with you today?" he demanded, shaking Tom roughly. Control issues? If he had control over the Death Eaters...what did Tom have? Tom was the Dark Lord, by all rights everything Dark was his property. Was that it?

"**Let go of me**," Tom hissed.

"Is it the Horcrux?" Harry persisted. The next second, Tom's magic had tightened around his throat, squeezing, choking,and the Slytherin Heir used it to his advantage, tugging his hands off, nearly breaking his fingers with the movement.

"I said," he repeated, too softly. "Let go of me."  
Harry stared, utterly bewildered, his jaw clenched.

"You know, most of the time when we have a problem, we damn well bargain," he reminded, tersely. "You're acting...odd."

But Tom's features were calm now, again, though his eyes raked across Harry's form. Harry returned the scrutiny, carefully.

"We'll go to Gringotts on the weekend to see the vault on the weekend," Tom declared.  
Once again, he was sweeping out.

Harry really didn't like it.

* * *

"So, Albus...long time no see," Grindelwald murmured, gaze fixed on him, the most awful smile twisting his emaciated features.

"Stop this," Dumbledore ordered curtly, keeping his own attention firmly away from the other man.

"Fifty years, isn't it?" Gellert continued, as if he hadn't heard. "No visits, no contact...not even a greeting card for my birthday. I'm hurt, Albus. I thought we had a special something."

"I said stop it," he said, coldly. "I want nothing to do with you."

"Yes, you made that clear," Grindewald replied, with a hint of venom now. The Dark Lord leant across the table, closer to him. "I bet the guilt just eats you up whole..."

Albus said nothing, and Gellert didn't seem to need him to either, speaking conversationally.

"I kept an eye on your pursuits over the years, love...champion of the Muggles, Albus? Really? You were trying so hard to forget that it's almost adorable, if it wasn't so pathetic, I mean."

"I don't know what you're trying to achieve-" Dumbledore began again, eyes flashing furiously.

"-Did I break your heart, Albus?"

The dinner plates shattered, and Gellert rocked back and forth, laughing, a grin splitting his face - that same, boyish grin which never seemed to change, despite the hard brittle bitterness of the years

"You know you did," Dumbledore snapped, his face worn.  
The smile vanished. Grindelwald stared at him, before leaning even closer.

"Good," he hissed. "Because you broke mine first!"

Dumbledore thought he might have preferred Azkaban.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Harry and Tom stood outside of Gringotts, the latter showing about as many emotions as a stone would. Harry himself couldn't help but feel apprehensive, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his robes.

They'd been accosted on the streets so many times that it had taken double the normal amount of time to get to the bank in the first place, hounded by people who just wanted to chat, get autographs and photos.

It was exhausting, yet Tom, as always, seemed unaffected. But then, Tom had this purposeful walk that had people moving to the side and deferring to whatever the Slytherin Heir wanted, while Harry was the one more likely to get hassled. It was infuriating. And embarrassing. Harry was starting to realise just how much he hated being in the limelight, he never knew what to say! They were finally at Gringotts though, but Harry still didn't feel any better about the whole scenario.

"You do realise the only reason I'm not handing everything to you is because I don't trust you to make good use of it?" Harry questioned, quietly, as they entered, heading towards an unoccupied goblin.

Tom glanced at him, curtly.

"That shouldn't be your priority or decision to make," the other returned, perhaps more honest on the topic than he had been all week. "Everything in that vault belongs to me."

"What, because you're Voldemort?" Harry's voice was flat, suddenly frosty, but Tom seemed to ignore that easily enough, returning his gaze stonily.

"Yes, actually."

Harry's eyes narrowed.  
"No."

"Yes," Tom returned, firmly. "Maybe not that version, but I'm not the tamed, domestic alternative either, Potter. I may not have done everything he has, but he is still an intrinsic part of me and so everything that is his is mine."

The 'Potter' signified how annoyed with this whole affair the other really was, as did the curt tone.

"Yes," he replied, rolling his eyes, "I'm fully aware you're not a nice person or any such crap. Bloody hell, I'm not stupid, and I happen to know you and have spent more than enough time in your company to know that you're not tamed and you certainly aren't domestic - the idea's laughable! Doesn't make you him. Clearly, we work on different definitions of 'Voldemort.'"

The conversation paused as they spoke to a Goblin, and headed across the polished marble floors towards the carts. Harry had always loved them, they were like a rollercoaster, but Tom's shoulders tensed a tiny bit. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

"Don't like the carts?" he questioned innocently. Tom shot him a dark look.

"They're death traps on wheels...which of course would mean you like them. And, clearly, we do have different definitions," Tom replied, tersely. "I would make excellent use of anything in that vault, if you know me so well you claim you should know I always use all the resources available to me...unlike you," Tom shot him a pointed look. "You don't want any of this, you're most likely going to waste the numerous opportunities and artefacts you've been gifted with and leave them to grow dusty, unused."  
Harry rolled his eyes.

"And there was me thinking you'd be happy that I didn't use your 'inheritance' against you, or your Death Eaters."

"The Death Eaters would listen to me over you anyway," Tom said coldly, fingers bleached white against the edges of the cart. Harry softened slightly.

"You do know Voldemort was probably fully aware of how much this would...bother you, don't you?" he questioned.

"Of course I'm aware of it," Tom replied. "Doesn't stop it, ah, 'bothering me' as you would put it..."  
Harry's fists clenched at the withering tone.

"Then kindly stop taking this out on me," he bit out. "It's not my fault you're a bastard."

Tom's gaze snapped to him, studying him for a moment, as if seeing him again for the first time as an actual person. Harry raised his brows, and Tom shook his head, laughing after a few seconds. It wasn't the rare, free laugh of genuine amusement, it was bitterer and crueler than that, but it no longer held the previous edge either.

"As always, darling, my parent's were married," Tom murmured, before immediately getting out the cart when it stopped, with a smirk.

It was enough to marginally take some of the unnecessary tension out of Harry's shoulders, though there was still enough weight to be a burden.

The Goblin was favouring them both with a considering expression, albeit not a particularly friendly or pleasant one as it trotted forwards to open the vault door.

For a moment, Harry was frozen, only switching to action when Tom grabbed his arm and practically shoved him into the vault to have a look. It was rather empty, all things considered.

Of course, there were huge piles of galleons, and bits and pieces from aliases over the years to fund Lord Voldemort's rise to power, but there wasn't an extortionate amount. There were lots of books too, a skeleton in the corner which Harry did his best to ignore, and what looked like numerous presents from over the years.

Yet, it was the piece of paper and the notebook that immediately zapped towards him, as if summoned, which held his attention.

He eyed it warily, not putting it above Voldemort to have cursed everything in this room, and looked around for Tom only to find the Slytherin Heir had wandered away down the piles of stuff, a cautiously curious and fascinated glint to his eyes.

Harry looked back to the letter, snatching it out of the air.  
He'd see what it said before he showed it to Tom...

All the colour drained from his face.

_Harry, I believe a "congratulations" would stereotypically be in order here, as the great hero of the light has triumphed once more against evil... However, I care little for stereotypes, and find even less to celebrate in this supposed victory._  
_But I suppose you must be feeling rather proud of yourself, hero? Here you are, with all the glittering prizes and no doubt everything you could have wanted._

_What a great triumph for you._

_Aside from all the people you condemned to suffer, of course... You didn't think of that, did you, Harry?_

_I once told you it wasn't your fault that your parents died, back when I was young and naive. I lied. It was your fault, all of it was. You ensured they had to die so you could live, so that the timeline wouldn't explode._

_It was your fault._

_Every death which has occurred is on your hands, as is their blood, because you thought you could play with fate and time without consequences._

_Your parents...and so many more. Do you even realise how many people died during the course of the last fifty years because of your actions? More than I can count. Millions._

_You are responsible for so much suffering Evans; theirs, and mine too._  
_Did you think I wouldn't notice that something was wrong?_

_I'm not stupid, I can tell when I'm missing something, especially a year of memories. But it matters not, the past is the past, and I have no effect on the future anymore in this Time Loop._

_It's ironic that you push onto me all the things you so feared to deal with - the loss of power and control over a perceived destiny, but, I'm sure you've noticed by now that Fate is a very difficult thing to outrun._

_The Prophecy still stands, you realise? With Tom? He's going to realise that too, because he's me, and though a person may_

_change externally, internally, we are identical in our core aspects. You still have the power to destroy him, powers we know not, and with the way you both push and insist on changing each other, neither of you can live while the other survives. Eventually, one will give, because no one can keep us such an exhausting battle up forever._

_There's no such thing as a happy ending, 'darling', only a story cut off before something bad happens again._

_So, you've paid for the chance you two now have with the torment of our war-torn nation and thousands of lives...but what now?_

_Is it worth it?_

_You've no doubt heard it said that your story is a tragedy, and like all fates, you have yet to outrun that judgement either._

_You see, we get bored. Tom gets bored. He and I are children of war, violent, bloodthirsty, never stopping or slowing with a_

_subtle hatred of peace because we've never known it, it's alien._

_You don't know peace either._

_Yet, that is what you're both working for, and want you want. The more you work out all of your issues, the more you compromise and smoothen out...the less interest you hold for each other, and certainly, the less fun he finds you._

_You bond over fighting, but, as the time goes on, you will have less to fight about if you continue to work through your problems. And so, you become dull, uninteresting, and you no longer fit._

_He is...healing towards you, but you only hold common ground when you are both as damaged as each other. One day, you are the type who will move on and push on with life; you want normalcy, a family._

_Do you honestly believe he has any interest in either of those?_

_Maybe not now, but, eventually, it will divide you because despite compromises, you want different things out of life and possess different ideologies._

_And he won't forgive you for it._

_The basic fact of your messed up relationship is that you want him, and the things he can offer you, and he needs you but doesn't want you in the slightest._

_Walking away has always been more of an option for you than it has been for him, you have other people you can rely on, and could eventually continue if he was no longer in your life._

_He, however, would become me, and therefore not quite himself, if you weren't there._

_The balance is unequal, and will thus start to act like poison._

_So, conclusions, Harry? What do we have left?_

_Two people destined to fall into ruin and separation, a Fate not escaped just re-worked and so much death and sacrifice for it to have happened in the first place - all on you._

_Was it worth it?_

_Enjoy yourself while it lasts, soldier._

_LV._

_TMR._

* * *

It was an interesting vault, and even more intriguing in a terrible sort of way for the snippets of life he could have.

A Lestrange family ring lying on top a Defense Thesis...OWL and NEWT examination papers and certificates with top grades in every subject he'd taken...money...trinkets from various travels around the world...lots or rare books on obscure topics that he would have done anything to take with him...his old school equipment...everything for a life he could have once had, and not

much of anything at all...

He turned back to Harry, feeling a muffled yet oddly sharp and obviously unintentional shard and splinter of emotion through their connection, though it was gone too fast for him to decipher any specifics.

He returned to see what the other had found; Harry was still at the front of the vault, a piece of paper and a worn leather notebook in his hand.

He frowned, moving over, reaching out a hand to look, but Harry quickly looked up, scrunching the letter up and stuffing it into his pocket.

Tom's frown deepened.

"What was that? Show me," he instructed, studying the other. Harry looked pale, eyes distantly tortured, lost almost, with a hint of uncertainty running so deep it was as he'd just given the boy another Horcrux. He raised his eyebrows in a repeat of his demand.

"It's nothing," Harry said, obviously lying, examining the pad with some hesitation.

"Yes," Tom drawled, "nothing is exactly why you look like you've seen a ghost. What did he say?"

"Oh you mean you can't guess?" Harry snapped, "I thought he was an 'intrinsic part of you'?"

Tom blinked, and Harry shook his head a moment later, mumbling an apology.  
"Sorry, I just don't like this place, or him. I'd rather just forget about the whole lot."

"By all means, if write the deeds over to me, I will ensure it never troubles you again," Tom said instantly, with a smile. Harry snorted, though a grin tugged at his lips at the comment too.

"I'm sure," he drawled, before flipping the notebook open, hands tightening around it.

Tom reached out for it, anticipating Harry moving it away and snatching it, only for his head to tilt.

It was a journal, or a compilation of some sort. His brow furrowed as he started to read the first page, dodging Harry's attempt to grab the book back.

"Mine," he said, simply. "You have your piece of paper, I'll keep this. You are not bloody well reading my journal."

"It was left to me for a reason," Harry argued, eyes tight.

"Yes, by Voldemort, so forgive me if I don't see fit to indulge his reasons considering your current state of being."

"I'm fine!"

"Yes, sure you are sweetheart," Tom replied sarcastically. "You look stunning. Not at all like you've just been hit by a truck and are about to be sick, or like someone's throttled that owl of yours."

Harry scowled.

"Tom, seriously, give it here."

"No," he replied, flatly, pocketing the book instead for further perusal later. He'd caught a glimpse of the contents, and there was no way that he was sharing. "Now come on, there are some wonderful books you need to take out of here for me..."

What was Voldemort even playing at?

And exactly how foolproof was a memory charm really? The remembrall had been opened and broken, and fixed and sealed so many times it was cracked.

How many bursts or remembrance had the Dark Lord had before Halloween 1980? And what did he do in his periods of full

knowledge and lucidity?

Tom had a feeling or growing forbidding, and he didn't like it.

It was going to be an interesting year.


	5. Chapter 5

Tom and Harry left Gringotts soon after. Harry had taken out a few of the more mild books for Tom, though he still cringed at their contents. He was treating the books as a sort of peace offering. Harry knew Tom would understand the significance of the gesture.

Harry could feel Tom's eyes burning into the side of his skull once they were both seated in the cart. Harry turned to scowl at the young dark lord.

"What is it?"

Tom's eyes were dark, contemplative. "What was in that letter?"

Harry feigned innocence. "Nothing. "

"I'm sure it's nothing," Tom drawled. "That must be the reason why I can feel anxiety rolling off of you. 'Nothing.'"

Harry narrowed his emerald eyes. "You really are a good actor, Tom. For a moment there, I thought I actually felt you worry."

Tom's eyes widened by a fraction, the only indication of his surprise, before he carefully composed his features once more.

"What? You didn't know?" Harry smirked. "I can feel some of your emotions now. Though I'm guessing they're the more 'tame' ones seeing as how I haven't felt the urge to go out and do evil."

"Funny, golden boy." Tom sneered before an unreadable look crossed his face. Harry tensed, that look never meant good things.

"It must be the mind link." Tom said after a moment. "It's no longer split between Voldemort and myself."

"Thought you said you were one and the same," Harry idly said.

Tom scoffed. "Don't be stupid, you know what I meant."

"I suppose you could be right, but I don't think that's what it is." Harry doubted Tom's theory was accurate. The link he'd had with Voldemort had been something inside of his mind, plaguing him day and night. The sudden link he had with Tom was somehow more natural. It felt like it was a part of him.

"Guess we really are soul mates, darling." Tom smirked mockingly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to let this drop even though you seem eager to sidestep the issue."

Tom scowled.

Harry laughed.

* * *

Harry walked into the Room of Requirement after Tom. He immediately began to grow suspicious. The room was in the setting Tom used when he was trying to put Harry at ease. There was French furniture lazily placed in front of a roaring fire. The ceiling showed a clear sky and one of the walls turned into a reflection of the grounds surrounding Hogwarts.

Tom delicately sat in one of the elaborate armchairs in front of the fire. He gestured for Harry to sit across from his.

"When I first came to Hogwarts," Tom started, staring at the fire.

Harry held still, not wanting to startle this rare moment of openness away from Tom.

"Dumbledore told me that there were people like me here." Tom flicked his dark eyes towards Harry. "He lied."

Harry tilted his head to the side. He didn't know how to reply. Why was Tom telling him this?

"Which is why I would like to apologize in advance."

Harry glared. "No. To whatever you're planning. No."

Tom offered him a pitying look, though Harry debated whether it was genuine. "I really am sorry, Harry."

Tom raised his wand.

"Legilimens."


	6. Chapter 6

Harry could _feel_ Tom moving around in his mind. It was a bit like a snake at first, slithering and slightly intimidating. Then, once Tom realized that Harry had rather decent shields in place, there was an explosion of pain in his mind as Tom began to violently attack Harry's mind.

Harry winced, he had almost forgotten about Tom's sadistic nature. The irony wasn't lost on Harry when he suddenly felt very grateful for having a decent occlumency teacher.

Harry felt Tom shy away from the emotion. With vindictive satisfaction, Harry blindly shoved a multitude of emotions at Tom.

* * *

(Tom pov)

Worry.

Love.

Annoyance.

Sadness.

Self-hatred.

Tom emerged from Harry's mind only to start glaring at the tired grin that passed over the other boy's face. Harry was infuriating. But Tom also felt an inkling of satisfaction. He really had taught Harry well, though he was still debating if that truly benefited him or not.

Tom pushed those thoughts out of his mind, he had more important matters to focus on. He was beginning to think that he knew what Harry might be upset over. . .

Tom watched the boy across from him. Harry was unique. Though he still wasn't quite sure what made Harry special to him, Tom knew that he didn't like it when his counterpart had an influence over him. Especially after Voldemort was supposed to be gone in the past, trapped in a never-ending time loop.

"Do you really think you have that much power over me?"

Harry gaped at him. "Of course I don-"

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "Then why do you insist on blaming yourself for the actions of myself or my counterpart?"

Harry grew silent. Tom kept his eyes trained on the other's emerald gaze. Even if Harry didn't admit to them, his emotions were usually clear if you knew where to look. The fire crackled soothingly between them. The sky above grew grey and cloudy, it would inevitably rain.

"I was selfish," Harry quietly said.

"Explain."

"That letter," Harry trailed off.

"What did he say?"

Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter. It sounded wrong coming from someone normally so annoyingly positive. "My plan. I wanted you to stay, and now thousands of people are going to die over and over again."

"Harry," Tom said softly. Harry had a habit of closing in on himself whenever he got in one of his martyr moods. "All of that happened in the first timeline. It has nothing to do with what you did."

"But now it's going to keep happening over and over-"

"Oh please, darling." Tom drawled. "All of time is always happening at once. All those people are always dieing because that's what happened the first time around."

Harry stared at him. "That doesn't even make sense."

"It's a very complicated idea, I don't expect you to understand right away."

Harry was glaring by now. Tom put on his most dazzling smile, he had successfully distracted Harry from his darker thoughts. Now he just had to plant one more idea in Harry's mind.

"Did it ever occur to you that Voldemort may have just been trying to unsettle you? He used to do that quite often."

Harry watched him for a second before he softly smiled. "This is the most stable I've seen you in a while."

Tom appraised Harry. He had hoped the other wouldn't notice how in flux he was. Though it seemed that it would be even more difficult to hide that from Harry with this new bond they seemed to share.

"I could say the same thing about you."

* * *

(Harry pov)

The Slytherin common room was nearly empty by the time Tom and Harry returned. Their Slytherins were sitting by the fire, quietly reading or finishing homework. Harry walked purposefully towards Alphard and dragged him into a quiet conversation. It was only when he noticed how silent the other's had gone that he looked up and gave them all questioning looks.

"What?"

Zevi coughed nervously and flicked his eyes in the direction of where Tom was watching Harry with a slight look of bemusement. Abraxas stared at Harry for a moment before shaking his head and going back to his homework.

"Right. . ." Harry trailed off, pointedly ignoring the smirk spreading across Tom's face.

"So, about Dumbledore." Harry turned to Alphard. Harry ignored the quiet chuckle from the young dark lord. The bastard.

"Shut up, Tom."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, darling."

* * *

A/N: This story is not going to be slash.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry sat in the common room, waiting for the other Slytherins. He had woken early as a habit and had nothing else to do before breakfast began.

The room was especially cold during the mornings, but Harry had rarely taken notice of it before. Now he was seriously considering starting a fire.

Or, well, he would have if a letter hadn't fluttered down the chimney that Harry had always assumed was just decorative. The parchment floated through the air until it hovered directly in front of Harry's startled face. It remained still for a moment before gently unfolding to revel a set of spidery letters.

LV

Harry was flooded with dread.

A cold voice resounded from nowhere. "Did you really think you could get rid of me so easily, pet? I may have 'lost', but I'll always be with you. You must have received my other letter by now. How's life with me? Don't forget what I said. It's inevitable." The voice paused. The air in the Slytherin common room seemed to have dropped ten degrees. Harry felt numb. "I digress, I don't mean to taunt you more. I have a story to tell you. Not about anyone important, just some witch that didn't like knives. Or rather, she didn't like them once I was through with her. There was so much blood, Harry. In fact, I'm not even sure if she had any skin once I was done. The rest seems faded. It's an old story, you see it happened a month after I graduated from Hogwarts. . ." The voice, _his _voice, grew silent before purring out, "Until next time, Harry."

Harry felt as if he had been petrified. His breathing was shallow and his skin was like stone. He watched with wide eyes as the letter in front of him burst into flames.

"Well that was entertaining," a sardonic voice offered.

Harry whipped around. It would be Tom. And of course he would be standing there wearing an expression of utter innocence.

"How much did you hear?" Harry was embarrassed to find his voice hoarse.

"Well," Tom sauntered foreword, keeping a careful eye on Harry. "I felt your apprehension and decided it would be best to see what was causing you so much trouble this early in the morning."

So, the whole thing then. The bastard could have just said so, rather than bring up that unusual bond that still existed between them.

"Good thing I came to check too," Tom quietly said as he placed a hand on the back of the couch that Harry had been sitting on. His eyes were dark and assessing.

Harry smiled bitterly. "He's never going to let me go, is he?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow. "You make it sound as if you broke up with the Dark Lord. Is there something I should know about, darling?"

Harry glowered at Tom. He knew what the older boy was doing, trying to distract him from how he really felt. Tom did it often enough. He had tried doing it last night, and Harry had let him believe that it had worked.

Tom smirked, dark eyes glinting. "He's just trying to get under your skin."

"Why did he say 'until next time'?"

Tom shrugged. "You should probably be expecting more."

Panic rose in Harry. He didn't want any more letters from Voldemort. They would probably keep trying to point out the similarities between Tom and Voldemort while also painting nightmares with words.

"Excuse me," Harry muttered, forcing himself to calmly walk towards the dormitory. He needed to grab his book bag before he went and tried his best not to be sick at breakfast.

* * *

Harry was stopped by Ron and Hermione in the Entrance Hall. They had distinct looks of worry on their faces that really didn't bode well for Harry and his desire to not talk about how he was feeling.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice was soft. "How are you feeling?"

"You're looking a bit pale." Ron added helpfully.

Harry shrugged. "I'm fine. How have you guys been?"

Hermione smiled. "We've been good."

"Mum was really happy that I got so many OWLs." Ron grinned. Harry couldn't help but grin back at him. It was good that the Weasleys got to be happy after everything that had happened.

"Um, Harry." Hermione began, staring over his shoulder. "Is Tom _waiting_ for you?"

Harry spun on his heel. Tom never waited for anyone or anything. If the Slytherin heir wanted Harry's attention, he usually just grabbed his arm and dragged him off somewhere.

Yet there he was, brooding against the far wall. Harry tentatively focused on their link. Tom was feeling. . . Perplexed?

Tom's eyes flicked up to Harry's. Darkness staring directly into deep emerald. He tilted his head towards the Great Hall, inviting Harry to follow him rather than be dragged along.

Now Harry was the perplexed one.

"He's thinking. I'd better go before he hurts himself." Harry walked away to the sound of Ron and Hermione's laughter.

Tom smiled at Harry once they were standing in front of each other. "Catching up with friends?"

Harry watched him warily. Tom was acting strange, or stranger than usual. "Yes."

"Then you probably shouldn't lie to them." The taller boy pushed off from the wall and began walking through the doors of the Great Hall.

Harry followed after him, feeling slightly miffed. "I didn't lie to them. What are you even talking about?"

Tom cast a glance over his shoulder. "You obviously aren't fine. Don't worry though, darling. I won't push the issue."

They sat down at the table. Zevi glanced between the two of them, noticing the tense aura. Abraxas paused in his conversation with Draco before continuing in a hushed tone. Alphard brazenly asked, "What's going on?" Harry and Tom ignored all of them.

Harry grabbed a cup of coffee. Carefully sipping at it while he glanced around at the other tables. It seemed that some of the older members of the other houses were also developing a habit of making sure they knew what type of moods the Slytherin Duo were in.

* * *

Potions was dreadful. Harry had accidently left his textbook in the dorm. Nevermind that most teachers would have taken points for coming to class unprepared, Slughorn was nearly gushing when he assured Harry that he could just use one of the old textbooks in the cupboard. Tom had glared at Harry as if his entire education had all been for naught. Sometimes Harry forgot how seriously Tom took education.

After the class had gathered, Slughorn had everyone move to stand in front of three cauldrons. Harry immediately recognized one of them, though he wondered why the professor would have it.

"I have three potions here." Slughorn held his hand over the potion Harry recognized. "Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

Harry found himself compelled to raise his hand and say, "Polyjuice potion."

"Very good, Mister Potter." Slughorn smiled at him. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

Slughorn held his hand over a potion that resembled water. "Does anyone know this potion?"

Hermione's hand shot in the air. "Veritaserum, sir."

"Yes, exactly, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Slughorn held his hand over the last steaming cauldron. Its contents were pink with a strange shimmer. "Before anyone tells the class what this one is, I want you all to breathe in deeply."

Harry was confused, but did what he was told. He smelled broomstick polish, old leather, and something that reminded him of lightning. Confused, Harry glanced to his left, where Tom was standing. The young Dark Lord had a distinctly displeased look.

"What's wrong?"

Tom turned to look at him, his expression suddenly carefully wiped blank. "Nothing."

"Professor," Tom raised his voice. "Would you mind explaining to me why you have the strongest known love potion in a classroom of hormone driven teenagers? Amortentia really isn't something that you should just leave lying around."

Slughorn laughed when he glanced at Tom. "Excellent. Ten points to Slytherin, Mister Riddle." Slughorn turned to face the rest of the class.

"Now, I see several uncomfortable faces. I should clarify that despite its nature as a love potion, Amortentia smells like whoever each person loves most. That doesn't necessarily mean romantic love, though is often the case, but you don't need to worry if you smell your mother's perfume."

Slughorn withdrew a small vial of golden liquid from one of his pockets. "This is Felix Felicis, also known as liquid luck. I have a small competition for the class." He grinned. Harry supposed it was meant to be friendly, but it just came across as creepy. "Whoever wins will receive this vial."

* * *

In the end, Harry and Tom were tied. Tom was giving Harry speculative looks, and Harry was glancing down at the potions book he'd used. There were mysterious directions in it. At first, he'd completely ignored them. He'd assumed they were just scribbles from previous owners of the textbook. Harry had no doubt that Tom had seen what was inside, he'd even flipped through it and told Harry to follow what the scribbles said.

Slughorn disappeared behind his desk for a moment before reappearing with a second vial of liquid luck. Harry and Tom had both received one along with twenty more points to each of their houses. Harry knew Slughorn was just trying to work his way into Harry's good graces, though Harry had no idea why Tom would have been willing to share in the glory of being best in the class.

* * *

Harry was walking down a corridor in the dungeons when he began to feel like he was being watched. Casting a glance of his shoulder, Harry couldn't see anything but shadow. Ron and Hermione had run off to Gryffindor tower so they could grab something for their next class while Tom and the Slytherins had vanished soon after class ended.

Harry cautiously gripped his wand. Hogwarts was the safest place in the magical world, but only from outside forces. Bringing a binding curse to his lips, Harry slipped into an alcove. Shadows passed in front of his eyes and silence rang in his ears.

"What exactly are you planning?" A voice purred in his ear.

Harry swore loudly and spun on the spot. How the hell had Tom managed to get behind him in his hiding spot?

Tom smirked as he glanced around at their small environment. "Cozy."

Harry began to quickly back up, lowering his wand in the process. He really didn't think it would end well for him if he accidently cursed Tom. Especially with how unstable their relationship was at the moment.

Tom grabbed Harry's wrist. "Show me that book."

"Why?"

"Harry," Tom gave Harry an indulgent look. "You found a book with highly advanced and experimental magic written in it. A book that was obviously kept hidden for a number of years. Are you following me?"

Harry blinked at Tom.

"I'm talking about Dark magic, darling."

"Oh, so you want to learn some new tricks?" Harry tried tugging his arm back, suddenly feeling angry for reasons even he didn't understand.

Tom smirked. "I'm asking nicely."

"And I want to know why before I give you something that you could use to hurt people."

Tom's eyes grew dark in the dim torchlight. "I'm a psychopath, Harry. I'd like to think that you've accepted that by now." Tom tilted his head. "Why do you keep entertaining this idea that I'm a nice person, darling? We both know it's not true."

"You can be nice when you want, you just normally don't want to." Harry tugged once more at his captured wrist.

Tom's voice was soft when he spoke. "Then why are you so bothered by what Voldemort said in that letter?"

Harry stood there, dumbfounded. His wrist went slack in Tom's hand. "What do you mean?" Tom couldn't possibly know what the letter said, he'd actually seem rather uninterested after they'd spoken in the Room of Requirement.

"The letter from this morning, and don't try lying this time."

Harry relaxed by a fraction, at least Tom still didn't really know about the first letter from Voldemort. "If I tell you, will you let me go?"

Tom smirked. "After you let me look at that textbook." Harry opened his mouth to refuse, but Tom held his other hand up before he could say anything. "I'll give it back. I know you're interested in it too."

Harry narrowed his eyes. The Slytherin heir drove a hard bargain, but fair nonetheless. "I don't like. . . Imaging you doing the things that he's done. Knowing that you were so close to becoming him."

"What makes you think I'm not still going to be like him?"

Harry looked into Tom's shadowed eyes. "You don't want to."

Tom stared straight through Harry, as if assessing his very soul. He held his other hand out after a moment. "I'll return the book tomorrow."

Harry hesitated.

Tom gave Harry a long-suffering look. "I promise," he drawled.

Harry rummaged through his bag after a moment. If the book really did have Dark magic in it, he wasn't so sure that he wanted to look through it after all. Though he supposed that was a bit unfair considering he spent a vast amount of his time with a Dark Lord while the book could just be a book. Tom took the textbook from Harry's hand, they both held onto it for a moment, having a silent conversation that Harry honestly couldn't understand.

"Why did you look upset during Potions?"

Tom stiffened, tugging the book from Harry's grasp. He surveyed Harry with an indecipherable look before he seemed to once more meld into the shadows.

* * *

A/N: Don't get yourselves in a tussle. The story still isn't slash, just wait and see where I'm going with this.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry waited for the other Slytherins to leave the dorm before going to the Great Hall, Tom had been gone when he'd woken up and he was hoping that Voldemort had done some sort of spell to only make the letters appear when he was alone. And if that was the case, then Harry was going to make damn sure that he always had company.

Besides, he could use the situation to his advantage. Harry had noticed Zevi acting rather tense around him, hopefully he hadn't said something to upset the other boy.

"Hey." Harry quickened his pace to match with the Slytherin boy.

Zevi offered him a lopsided smile. "Hi, Harry."

Harry made a split-second decision to be blunt. Zevi usually didn't hold it against him. "Have I done something to offend you? It feels like you've been avoiding me ever since term started."

Zevi quickly looked away, avoiding his emerald stare. "No. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. Tom's just been keeping me busy lately."

Now Harry was extremely curious. Keeping company with a Dark Lord had him picking up on strange habits. One of which was telling when people lied to him. Harry wasn't nearly as good as Tom was, but he had a feeling that Zevi wasn't exactly telling him the truth. Maybe he was just being paranoid, spending time with a Dark Lord did that to you too.

Casting one last glance at Zevi, Harry took his customary seat next to Tom once he entered the Great Hall.

"So, what's Zevi doing for you?"

Tom put on a blank face, though a flicker of amusement was in his dark eyes. "More like what you can do for him."

Harry scrunched up his face. "What does that mean?"

Tom shrugged, handing him the old potions book and a newspaper.

Harry flipped through the book first. There were large chunks of pages missing, including the back cover.

Harry glared. "What did you do to it?"

"There were things in there that I didn't want you to see."

"You promised-"

Tom smirked. "I promised to return the book. I never promised to return the whole book."

Harry gave Tom a scathing look. He should have known Tom would do something like that. He had been so concerned with hiding the truth from Tom that he hadn't wondered if the Slytherin heir had ulterior motives.

Harry sighed and raked his eyes over the Daily Prophet.

And nearly dropped it in disgust.

_THE-BOY-WHO-BETRAYED_

Tom hummed softly next to him, sensing Harry's shock as he sipped his tea.

Harry looked down at the article. Anxiety rising the further he read.

". . . must have been working with You-Know-Who the entire time. . ."

". . . Who knows if he's really gone, maybe they planned everything. . ."

"The Dark Lord's will. . ."

"Some rather odd friends. . ."

"Parseltongue is a particularly dark magic, and it wouldn't surprise me if Harry Potter knows other types of dark magic. Maybe even taught to him by the Dark Lord himself."

The whole damn article was about how Harry had been corrupted by Voldemort and how they had some evil plan to destroy the wizarding world.

"You don't seem upset." Harry noted softly, still slightly shocked.

"Why should I?" Tom quirked a brow. "Everything it says is basically true."

Harry felt sick as he stared down at the paper. He could suddenly feel the eyes of students watching his every move. "I said some things to Fudge, but I didn't think he would actually. . ."

Tom waved a hand, dismissing Harry's words. "It's all politics, darling. We can use this to our advantage."

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts was terrible. Snape was going over something called 'nonverbal' magic. Tom was a natural at it while Harry couldn't even make his wand shoot sparks, and Snape was definitely going to use that to his advantage.

"Amazing, Potter. Most dark wizards are quite decent with nonverbal spells." Snape said as he sat behind his desk and watched Harry try to do magic.

Harry clenched his teeth. "You would have a lot of personal experience with that, wouldn't you?"

Snape's eyes gleamed. "You can hardly talk, Potter. Considering the company you keep. . . Or should I say _keeps you_?"

Rage flashed through Harry like lighting. He wanted to hurt Snape, make him regret ever opening his mouth and implying something like that.

Then, as soon as it came, the rage was gone as a chilling calm washed over Harry. He glanced across the classroom. Tom was lounging in one of the chairs, apparently he found nonverbal spells beneath him. He was absently twirling his wand through his fingers. The young Dark Lord was watching their banter with a rather bored expression. Tom's dark eyes slowly settled on Harry's face. He gave an imperceptible nod to his Gryffindor friend.

"I don't know what you mean." Harry replied nonchalantly."

"I don't know what you mean, _sir_."

Harry blinked innocently, emerald eyes flashing. "There's no need to call me sir, professor."

A spike of amusement went through the link. Harry glanced at Tom, the Slytherin was walking towards him with a small smirk on his face.

"Don't worry, _professor_. I'll make sure Harry understands by the end of the lesson." vice-like grip wrapped around Harry's wrist and dragged him to a dark corner of the room before anyone could protest.

Tom assessed him, letting go of Harry's wrist after he had silently taken his pulse. Dark eyes betrayed some sort of emotion. . . Concern? Probably something more sinister, though Harry chose not to dwell on it.

"Are you alright?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine."

"Fine as in I no longer wish to murder Snape," Tom smirked at that. "Or fine as in you just want to ignore this until something bad happens?"

"Fine as in I never had the urge to murder Snape."

"Torture, then."

Harry glared, Tom was still smirking. "Just drop it, okay."

Tom stared at him, countenance revealing nothing of his thoughts. "It really bothers you, doesn't it? What people think about you."

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. "I could always just leave. . ." He began to walk away from Tom.

"Not so fast, golden boy." Tom gripped his wrist in a more delicate manner this time. "I really am going to help you."

Harry turned, crossing his arms.

A small smile flicked across Tom's face. "You need to stop shouting the words in your mind, think about what you want the spell to do instead." Tom was slowly adopting his teaching voice. "That's why so many wizards find nonverbal magic extremely difficult, it's about intent rather that the words."

Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the information. It made sense. "Verbal spells rely on the incantation while nonverbal spells rely on what you want your magic to do."

"And you should be practicing with a spell you know well." Tom passed a critical eye over his form.

Harry quirked a brow. "Sparks aren't easy enough?"

"They might be easy, but you aren't nearly as familiar with them as you are with," Tom tilted his head, eyes flicking to Harry's wand. "The Disarming Charm."

"Disarming?"

"It's your signature spell. Probably out of some righteous belief that you don't have the authority to pass judgment on your opponent," Tom said with a mocking tone.

Harry scowled. "What's your signature spell?"

Tom glanced at him as he turned to put some space between them. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Right. . ." Harry eyed the other warily.

Tom smirked, going into a dueler's stance. "Disarm me."

Harry pointed his wand at Tom, willing the other's wand to move. He furrowed his brow and grit his teeth, refusing to acknowledge that Tom's wand was still in his hand. Harry pictured it in his head, the yew wand flying out of the other's hand.

The wand twitched, but Tom held on to it.

Harry grinned, satisfied with is improvement.

"Good. Now just out the desire behind that. Really _want_ it to happen."

They returned to their stances. Harry fixed his gaze on Tom's wand, once more willing the wand to fly out of Tom's hand.

And it did, skittering to a stop at Harry's feet.

Harry glanced at Tom, surprise evident in his emerald eyes. Tom nodded at him, then his eyes moved to his fallen wand. Harry rolled his eyes, but picked up the wand anyway and handed it back to the Slytherin Heir.

"Why are you helping me?" Harry asked as Tom wrapped his hand around the pale wand

"I was bored." Tom shrugged. "And I can't have a partner that can't keep up with me."

* * *

"That article was bang out of order, mate." Ron grunted as a Noxious Nightshade sent more thorns at the trio.

Harry ducked, he couldn't believe that Professor Sprout had assigned their class with the job of picking leaves from the nightshades. The temperamental plants had a tendency to shoot out poisonous thorns.

Looking around, Harry could tell that none of the Gryffindors or Ravenclaws were having much luck.

Though, Harry noted, Neville seemed to be doing alright. His plant was rubbing against his legs like some sort of spiteful cat.

"Tom says we should try and use the situation to our advantage. Sway the public opinion. Make the Ministry look bad," Harry's hand darted towards the plant and plucked off a leaf. A thorn shot out and sliced a thin line across his cheek. "Not that they need much help doing that."

"What do you guys have in mind?" Ron took the leaf and added it to their meager collection.

"You could release a counter-article," Hermione mused, a thoughtful expression crossing over her face.

"We would need a-"

"Reporter." Hermione smiled triumphantly.

Harry caught on a moment later. "You don't seriously mean her, do you?"

"People listen to her, Harry. And she owes us a favor. Skeeter would have to do it if we asked her.

Ron glanced between the two of them. "And we have a friend who's father runs a magazine that's not affiliated with the Ministry."

Harry gaped at his friends. The bell rang.

"I have to go tell Tom." Harry was already swiftly walking towards the castle.

He brushed against the link in a dark corner of his mind, hoping to find some indication of where Tom was skulking First he felt surprise, then amusement, and then finally an image of the Slytherin common room flashed in front of his eyes.

Harry chose to ignore how much the bond unnerved him.

* * *

The common room was quiet when Harry passed through the door. The dimly lit room was practically empty except for Tom and his Slytherins having a quiet conversation in front of the dead fire.

Tom glanced up when Harry entered the room. A scowl quickly overtook his expression. The other Slytherins looked at him once they noticed Tom's glaring eyes.

Zevi's eyes widened by a fraction, Alphard grimaced, and Abraxas looked mildly curious.

"Harry Potter Evans, what have you done to yourself?" Tom swept over to him, reaching a hand out towards his face.

Harry jerked back. "I need to tell you something," He said as he reached a hand up, feeling his cheek. A hiss escaped his lips when he lightly brushed across his forgotten cut.

"You're bleeding purple and the skin around that cut is turning black. I'm going to heal you from whatever senseless thing you've done this time before you say anything else." Tom was glaring fiercely at him.

Harry held up a hand. "Hold on-"

Tom placed a hand over his mouth. "Not another word." His voice was hushed.

Tom pointed his yew wand at Harry's cheek. An almost lyrical spell passed his lips and a cooling sensation formed over the wound as it was dried of blood.

Harry grabbed Tom's wrist and took the hand away from his mouth. "I know what to do about Fudge."

Tom gave him an appraising look. "You have my attention."


	9. Chapter 9

Harry walked into the near empty Great Hall with a thoughtful expression on his face. It was Saturday and many of the other students were going to Hogsmeade for sweets and some butterbeer. Not Harry though; he and Tom were going to meet Rita Skeeter and set the story straight. And maybe lie a little bit.

Harry wasn't thinking about that though. He was concerned with the interview, but he wasn't going to worry. If anyone knew how to tell a compelling story, it was Tom.

"What are you thinking about," tom asked when he saw the perplexed look on Harry's face.

"I'm trying to figure out when I first met you."

Tom smirked. "You landed on my lap and then swooned on me, remember?"

"Shut up." Harry scowled at Tom. "I think I met you for the first time when I was in my second year. Well, I guess it wasn't actually _you_. It was Voldemort's first horcrux after we sent him into the time loop."

"I think," Tom drawled. "That you are putting far too much thought into this."

"I was just curious."

"Then let's say that we met two years ago. Or fifty if you want to get very specific."

"We'd get odd looks."

Tom quirked a brow. "Don't we already?"

Harry nibbled at a piece of toast, still deep in thought. Voldemort's first letter was still echoing through his mind. Was Tom really destined to be like Voldemort? What if everything between them was just a farce for Tom to use him to his advantage?

Tom rolled his eyes. "Was there anything else on your mind?"

Harry looked up. "Aren't you worried about the interview?"

"Not particularly." Tom sipped some tea, watching Harry over the brim of his cup.

"Why not?"

"Psychopath, Harry."

Harry scoffed. "Right. Pathological liar. How convenient."

* * *

(Tom pov)

Tom found Harry at the quidditch pitch. They had given their interview earlier that day and tom had to admit that Harry was a fairly decent liar. Though he supposed that maybe Harry was just skilled at dealing with that repulsive woman known as Rita Skeeter.

After Harry had told him the plan, Tom had gone to the library and found some of the old newspaper articles she had written. They were obviously melodramatic to anyone with actual intelligence, but they were effective.

Tom had certainly seen Harry's eyes haunted by his past, but he'd never actually seen them glistening with the ghosts of his past.

As Tom watched Harry lazily do laps around the pitch, his mind obviously elsewhere, Tom had to acknowledge that Harry took to the air rather naturally.

Maybe Harry would have been a pilot in another lifetime.

Though Tom certainly didn't approve of the younger boy flying so late in the day. The sun had nearly set completely, and Harry was still going round and round like a clock.

Or a time loop.

Tom reached his magic out, gently tugging on the mark he had left on Harry.

The younger boy's head whipped towards him, finally taking notice of the Slytherin heir standing on the grass.

Tugging once more, Tom began to feel a slight reluctance and something that wasn't quite fear bleeding through their bond. Tom had noticed Harry acting skittish around him, though he had no idea why.

Harry began to descend from the sky, only for a piece of parchment to stop in his path when he was fifteen feet from the ground.

Tom tilted his head, he didn't understand. The voice he heard on the breeze a moment later confirmed his thoughts.

". . .Remember my first letter, Harry. . ."

Well that wasn't suspicious at all.

". . . He can never really change. He doesn't want to."

This was definitely going to have to be dealt with, though not just yet.

". . . When I was fourteen, I killed a filthy muggle man using only a gouging spell. Just to see if I could."

Harry really didn't need to hear about that.

Tom tugged at the bond once more, knowing it must have been causing Harry a great deal of pain to continue resisting its force. The other boy didn't move though. Harry's hands were gripping his broom with such force that his knuckles were bleached white. Emerald eyes stared at anything but the letter as that cold voice continued to speak.

Hissing a curse under his breath, Tom used his magic to wrench at the mark on Harry's arm with all the force he had. He watched as Harry lurched forward and began to fall with sadistic satisfaction.

Tom shot a quick cushioning charm at the ground right before Harry slammed into it. There was a sharp snapping sound as Harry connected with the ground.

Tom looked down at Harry as he gasped for breath and pressed a hand over his chest.

"Looks like you broke one or two ribs, and you probably have a punctured lung to go with those. I guess you'll be spending the night in the infirmary."

"You bastard," Harry gasped as a grimace crossed his face.

Tom offered Harry his hand and carefully helped him to his feet. He looped one of Harry's arms over his shoulders. They began a steady pace towards the castle, Harry glaring at Tom while Tom pointedly ignored him.

"He's right, you know." Tom said softly, almost to himself. "I'm not going to change."

* * *

(Harry pov)

Harry's eyes fluttered open as he woke up in a place that was not his bed. Everything came back to him as bright lights flooded his vision. There had been another letter. Harry felt bile rise in his throat. And there was something else. . . That insufferable Slytherin had broken his ribs.

Harry bolted upright. He was going to throttle Tom when he finally found him.

"Did you know that you curl up when you have bad dreams?"

Harry turned towards the soft voice. Tom was sitting in a chair next to his bed. He had an oddly friendly aura around him.

No. The bastard did not get to act as Harry's friend so soon after he'd hurt him so much.

"I can't believe you-"

"Believe what you like. I was merely saving you from yourself, golden boy."

"You complete-" Harry began exasperatedly, before he abruptly slumped back. "What?"

Tom was observing him with critical eyes. "You never told me you freeze at the sound of Voldemort's voice."

Harry blinked slowly. "I don't."

"Really?" Tom drummed his fingers against some papers on his lap. "That's what it looked like to me."

"Then you were obviously mistaken/

Tom narrowed his eyes. Social standards were abandoned once more as dark eyes seemed to pierce Harry's soul and drag all of his secrets into the light.

"What did he say this time?" Tom's voice was soft, but his eyes were calculating.

Harry shrugged. "This and that."

"Harry. . ." Tom's voice held an unspoken warning.

"It was nothing. Really." Harry's voice hardened. "Just some things to get under my skin."

"Did they," Tom asked delicately.

Harry smirked, but his eyes did not convey the mirth his voice did. "Only as much as you normally do."

"That really hurts, Harry." Tom sniffed and pretended to wipe away tears. "I thought you loved me."

Harry grinned despite the tension he felt. "I suppose you're tolerable."

Tom smiled softly, though Harry could sense a dark cloud growing between them. Harry was left with a feeling that he'd missed something important.

"Tom," Harry started slowly. A thought had just occurred to him. "Why are you here? You never wait in the hospital wing."

Tom held up the papers he had with him. "The article was published. I thought you would like to know what it says."

Harry reached for the papers only for Tom to swiftly snap them away. "Pomfrey told me that you should be resting for at least a few more hours. I'll read it to you."

Harry gaped at Tom, whose only response was to smirk and slowly smooth out the papers before beginning to speak in an annoyingly teasing voice.

"As I laid eyes upon Harry Potter and his handsome yet unknown friend-"

"Like hell she said that."

Tom continued, completely ignoring Harry. "I could definitely see where the rumors that they were a couple came from. And let me tell you readers, the time I spent with them only opened my eyes even wider to who these two young men really are.

Tom looked up, raising a brow at Harry's slightly red face. "You're blushing, darling."

Harry huffed. "Where's my wand? I'm feeling the strong desire to curse you."

"Then you definitely won't be getting it back right now."

Harry sighed as he crossed his arms. "It sounds like a gossip column. I thought she agreed to some terms about the article."

"She gets to that." Tom waved a hand at the papers. "The beginning is just to get people's interest."

"And that interests people," Harry asked incredulously.

"Well if you would let me continue. . ." Tom made a big show of clearing his throat.

Harry felt himself grin despite his annoyance.

"Harry Potter is a thoughtful gentleman - obviously she gained nothing from meeting you," Tom interjected. "He has matured between the time I last met him and now. And who wouldn't in Mister Potter's position? The young man has seen true horrors in his lifetime. Even to this day, I shudder thinking of how Harry Potter faced the resurrected Dark Lord when he was only 14 years of age. It's evident just from looking into his eyes, Harry Potter is haunted by things we can scarcely imagine. - That's probably just the hero complex she's seeing."

Tom turned the page. "Mister Potter says his life took a dramatic change when he met his friend, who I learn is called Tom Riddle once we're introduced. I find myself believing Harry, the two gravitate around one another."

Tom looked up. "Do you?"

"She was talking about both of us," Harry replied tightly.

Tom scowled, but returned to the article after a moment. "Mister Riddle is a charming and engaging gentleman with the perfect air of mystery about him. He claims to have met Harry two years ago; and although they didn't immediately get along, the two are now close friends."

"Didn't get along? We tried to kill each other."

Tom spoke over him. "I started the interview by getting straight to the questions we all really want to know:

RS: Is it true, Mister Potter? Did you work with You-Know-Who?

HP: Of course it's not. I've hated Voldemort ever since I discovered he murdered my parents.

RS: When did you discover that?

HP: When I was eleven. Before I arrived at Hogwarts everyone just told me that my father was a drunk that got himself and his wife killed in a car accident. They told me that's how I got my scar.

RS: How terrible. . . How about you, Mister Riddle? What are your feelings on the Dark Lord?

TR: He was a vile creature posing as a wizard. I'm glad he's gone.

RS: Very eloquently put. Now, Mister Potter, what was this we all ready about a few days ago? Were you really mentioned in the You-Know-Who's last will and testament?"

HP: Unfortunately. I suspect he left me everything as a way of saying that I would never really be rid of him.

RS: He left you everything?

HP: If it was up to me, I would burn everything I got from him.

RS: I can understand why. . . What are your plans for the future now that the Dark Lord is gone?

HP: I used to want to become an auror once I finished my education, but Tom convinced me that in order to change the world I have to start at the root of the problem.

RS: Does this mean that you plan to go into politics?

HP: Both of us plan to.

TR: We're a team. Harry and I have already proven ourselves against Voldemort, I doubt there's anything we can't do if we work together.

That's that, readers. Harry Potter isn't the next Dark Lord; he actually plans to do some good in this world. I know these are two wizards with bright futures ahead of them."

Harry grimaced. "That wasn't. . . So bad."

"I found your performance rather amusing."

"Shut up."

"Really." Tom teased. "Who knew you could play the orphan card so well. . ."

"I did not-"

"Would you like me to read it again?"

Harry glared.

Tom laughed lightly, standing with an elegant grace that really pissed Harry off. He put the papers in his book bag before placing the strap over his shoulder.

"I have to go to class. I suspect you'll be out of here in a few more hours." Tom walked to the door before looking over his shoulder and smirking. "See you later, darling."

Harry was fairly certain his glare could burn a hole in the wooden door as is shut behind the Slytherin heir.

* * *

(Tom pov)

Tom strode down the hall, dark eyes fixed on some point far ahead.

He wondered how long they could keep their secrets from one another.

He wondered when the levee would break.


End file.
